A/N: This is the memoir I wrote for my non-fiction assignment. I'm really proud of it, and I managed to get a First for it! It's a piece on my experience with dementia in my family.
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My Grandpa
In my family I'm known as the writer. I'm the only one who writes and creates stories. Everyone else lives on the other side of the book, whereas I create them. However, my Grandpa and Grandma are the ones in my family known as the 'story-tellers'. They'll sit there for hours and hours, telling us old stories of the war, their families and everyone will listen intently. My Grandpa especially, seeing as he was in the RAF and did so much travelling in his life, he has a new story for us every time we go out for dinner! Now it is my turn to give you back what you gave to me, Grandpa, this is my gift to you.
My Grandparents were there from the minute I was born – however, my Grandpa did take his time, deciding it was tradition to take my Dad out for a whiskey to 'wet the baby's head' – right until this moment. I grew up with them picking me up from school, staying over with them, going on holidays with them, baking with my Grandma and listening to my Grandpa's stories. I suppose that's where I got my writing bug from, listening to everything he used to tell me and wishing to be like he is. I always tell my Grandparent's everything, from my writing to my relationship troubles, and I even chose to go to the college that was a two minute walk from them so I could pop in every day!
When I moved to University the first time, I hated being apart from them. I phoned them every day, and I used to go back nearly every weekend to see them. It was when I was coming out of a twelve hour shift of placement as a nursing student that I got a phone call to tell me my Grandpa, the one with the brilliant memory of everything and anything, the accountant of the family, had been diagnosed with dementia. It was a horrible thing to hear, mainly because I had worked with dementia patients before, and knew a lot about it, having seen the view of a brain from before a patient had it to the brain in the midst of it, as well as the emotional effects it can have on family and the patient themselves.
I couldn't imagine my Grandpa not being able to remember who any of us were or not telling us the stories he would always tell. It would be a large burden on my Grandma as well, as she would always rely on him for everything. It had become a complete role reversal, as he now relied on her for everything. My Grandpa was, and still is, a character and I didn't want to imagine life with his character being ripped away from us.
That is why I decided to become their carers when I left my first university and was waiting to come to Winchester, because of all the years of my life they both cared for me and helped shape me into the person I am now. It was now the other way around, and it also meant I could spend as much time as possible listening to the two of them tell me about the war and their lives that most of the family had never even heard before.
The strange thing about dementia from my experience is that the patient almost reverts to a child-like state. They cling on to people as if they were a comfort blanket. For my Grandpa, those people are Grandma and me. When my Grandma was taken into hospital, we found Grandpa would follow me around the flat, not knowing what to do or what was going on. It is strange how I always think of their home as 'Grandma's' and without her, it seemed both of us were quite lost.
Yet, an almost amazing thing about dementia patients is that their memory is very selective. Grandpa can still remember most things about his childhood, and his travelling, his time in the RAF and when he was in the local town choir. Luckily for me, that means I still get to hear the stories he's saved up and hasn't told me yet.
We are going through Grandpa's old choir papers, song sheets, documents and photos. Some of the photos are from the local paper, while others are photos that my Grandma had taken. While we are clearing out their cupboards, and we find a description of him; it's an ordinary piece of paper, typed up on a computer. As I read it, however, it's as if the words bring a new lease of life to Grandpa; telling the reader about how he was in the RAF, and even that he was a keen cyclist.
"I never knew you cycled!" I say with a smile on my face. Grandma gives me a look of surprise, but Grandpa stares at the page, and I know he's trying to remember it all to tell me. I hope with everything I have he does. That's another thing about dementia; the patient will try to remember a memory and they just can't. They'll keep trying to and when they still can't, they'll get frustrated. It's heart breaking to watch. But, nonetheless, he does! He gives out a laugh instead: "Oh, yes! I cycled all around Norway!" He tells me all about it: he and twelve others were invited to go on a tour with local guides in 1952 (he isn't sure whether it was '52 or '54!) but he recalls to me with great joy how they toured the coast and then took to the mountains on their bikes, which was hard work. They were so worn out by the time they'd done that, they had to get the train back to Oslo. He told me that they stayed in a building without a toilet; they had to get up and walk around two-hundred yards down the road just to use a long drop, which he wasn't so keen on. Grandpa then tells me about how their two tour guides taught them to ski while they were on the trip, something he says was enjoyable, but he never fancies doing it again! The tour guides decided at the end of the trip that they wanted to take the twelve tourists to their own home and 'give them a good meal', apparently a fond memory of Grandpa's as he has a cheeky grin on his face as he tells me this!
Grandpa was always a keen singer, and joined the Male Voice Choir in 1990, and did twenty-five years, earning himself an award, a concert which he wanted me to attend. I went with my Grandma, both of us being proud of him for it. I remember when I used to stay at Grandma's on a Monday night during the school holidays, Grandpa would always leave at seven in the evening, and I would pretend to be asleep at my bedtime of nine so I would be awake when he came in at eleven at night, so he would say goodnight to me – that used to be our little secret, and he still remembers it now! His last concert at the choir was the same night, and the choir sang their usual repertoire and even included The Teddy Bear's Picnic, which to my surprise, was actually suggested by Grandpa because he knew I was going, and that used to be my favourite when we used to go to their concerts. After the concert, Grandpa would leave Grandma gossiping with the wives while he took me around to see his friends in the choir to have a chat and to show me off as his granddaughter, and I remember distinctly seeing the grin on his face as he told them I was nearly twenty and was going to university and had come to see him sing.
Grandpa was in the RAF and took part in a three month tour of the Canal Zone in Egypt and Khartoum in Sudan. He tells me that in the Canal Zone he was in charge of servicing the aircraft, which was increasingly difficult in the wind as the dust from the desert kept getting into the engine and the aircraft. He says that half way through the service in the Canal Zone; they were called down to Khartoum. When they were in Khartoum, Grandpa tells me it was extremely better as there was no dust, and they were there for two weeks. He says it was a brilliant city, and when they had finished their work for the day, they could go and explore; he says that Khartoum is built on roads and two rivers that came together, which was spectacular. He makes me want to go there myself!
He then tells me, as he remembers it, that he took six airplanes from Egypt and before they went, they had a practice bomb area that they had to take the planes from. Grandpa's plane was the last one to go through. They had to drop bombs to test that everything worked. When his plane went through, Grandpa says that they found some instruments hanging from the plane. He laughs as he tells me that they couldn't get rid of them, and the pilot told them that they would have to carry on going anyway, in the hope that they wouldn't fall and cause an explosion. He carries on laughing as he says that they were extremely nervous when they carried on, but they did anyway, and they landed just fine, without causing an explosion. The next morning they found that the local paper had reported on the story, giving them a good report that they managed to fly without causing an explosion. He says that it was lucky it didn't, as he was stationed just above the bit that could have exploded.
Recently, my Grandparents celebrated their diamond wedding anniversary. As a celebration, my family organised a weekend for them; we had them over for dinner, and then Grandma and Grandpa wanted to take all their children, grandchildren and great grandchildren out for Sunday lunch. At the restaurant, Grandpa came up to me and decided he was sitting beside me, and I heard my Grandma tell my brother she was sitting beside him. Anyone around the restaurant who didn't know us would think this was all just normal Grandparents wanting to sit beside their grandchildren, however, my sister was also there, which could be seen as favouritism, but to most of the family, it's not. My brother, who had flown back home from Madrid just for them, was told to sit next to Grandma because she loves him dearly, and doesn't see him that often, so that to us, is completely normal. Without him there, she wouldn't mind where she sat. My Grandpa, however, chose to sit beside me not because of favouritism or because I live elsewhere, but because other than Grandma, I'm the only person he considers safe and comfortable around. In busy situations, like a gathering of people, or a town centre, Grandpa doesn't like to be on his own. He very much relies on the comfort of those people and things he knows and loves, which is a complete role reversal between him and my Grandma.
I remember the moment I was told about it and how I could not even begin to imagine life without the Grandpa I had known growing up and I didn't even know how Grandma would cope with Grandpa being dependent on her for what could be the rest of their lives, however, I have noticed that the Grandpa everyone in the family knew is still there, especially in the ways his face lights up when he's telling you a story about the RAF or about his mother and father, and although he sometimes doesn't know what I'm doing, he still knows who I am and that I love him, and to me, that's the most important thing. That's why I wrote this, for the times you find it hard, Grandpa, this is here to help you remember the most important things as well as everyone who loves you.
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A/N - My Grandpa died on Christmas Eve 2017, only a month or so after my Grandma did. I kind of consider this to be a tribute!